Mockingjay: The Story of Effie and Haymitch
by mgowriter
Summary: Effie and Haymitch's story intertwined into the narrative of Mockingjay. Each chapter is a small vignette that ties directly into the book.
1. Real or Not Real?

**mgowriter's notes**: I had a lot of fun doing this for _Catching Fire_, so here we go again!  
**  
**Some improvements this time around:  
1. The official citation: Collins, Suzanne. _Mockingjay (The Hunger Games, Book 3)_. New York: Scholastic Press, 2010.  
2. I used the first edition, hard cover version of the book for reference. Chapter numbers will now be included as well as specific pages, so people with different versions will at least have a general idea of which part of the book I'm referencing.  
3. If given a choice, I would read the specific pages cited in the actual book first, but in case of "ain't nobody got time for that," you really don't need to reference the book to enjoy this story (:

This chapter's reference in _Mockingjay_: Chapter 2, pages 21-26

* * *

**Chapter 1: Real or Not Real?**

He pushes against the crowd, a mob of Capitol citizens rushing by in all directions. He feels a sharp jab in his ribs as someone surges past, but his eyes never leave their target. The woman in the electric yellow dress stands ahead of him, just out of reach.

He calls out to her, but she can't possibly hear him through the frantic screams of a thousand people running for their lives. She pulls further away with the swell of the mob, almost out of sight.

Two men in white uniforms appear from behind her. Peacekeepers. Their appearance sends a chill through his body. He's paralyzed with the thought of losing her.

She finally turns around as they catch up and grab her by the arms. The look of horror on her face is unmistakable. "Help me," she mouths the words, "please."

One of the Peacekeepers knows he's watching, and smiles in his direction. His face is too familiar.

"Haymitch," he says with amusement. "Why don't you come help her?"

The Peacekeeper is in front of him, holding him down with an iron grip. "Haymitch." He feels his shoulders shaking but can't break away. "Haymitch. Can you hear me?"

. . .

"Can you hear me?"

Haymitch wakes with a start. His hand automatically reaches behind his pillow, but even as he's doing this, he remembers his knife has been taken away. It changes trajectory and he grabs his assailant instead. In the same swift move, he propels himself out of bed to pin the other man to the floor.

"Haymitch! It's me, Plutarch. Haymitch, stop!"

He pauses. The voice is familiar. He looks down at the other man, whose face has turned an unhealthy shade of red.

"You're sitting…on my lungs," Plutarch says as he wheezes for air.

Haymitch jerks backward. He hits the foot of the bed and pulls himself up until he's sitting on top. He's drenched in sweat. The gray, District 13-issue shirt clings to his body. He doesn't remember drifting off to sleep.

Plutarch dusts himself off from the floor. He peers closely at Haymitch.

"You look terrible. They tell me you haven't been eating."

"I haven't been hungry," Haymitch replies. He presses his fingers against his temples. "Why are you here?"

Plutarch clears his throat. "We need your help. District 8 is getting hit with heavy fire."

"I told you I'm done with that," Haymitch says without emotion.

"Katniss is doing much better," says Plutarch, changing tactics. "She's up on her feet. I thought you might want to know."

Haymitch sneers at his words. "She thinks I betrayed her and had Peeta captured. She'll cut out my throat the first chance she gets. I still have the scars from the last time she tried."

Plutarch's gaze automatically shifts toward Haymitch's neck, where the marks from Katniss' attack in the hovercraft have begun to fade.

"Why are you here, Plutarch? A man can't even get some peace while he's in detox?"

Plutarch clears his throat. "From what I understand, the physical symptoms of alcohol withdrawal have all but disappeared. The latest report suggests you're doing this to yourself." He pauses, trying to formulate his next words. "Effie…she was taken, Haymitch. There's nothing we can do."

Haymitch swerves angrily to meet Plutarch's gaze. "She wasn't taken. I gave her up to them. I told her to trust the rebel base in the Capitol and it was raided. She trusted me, and now she's in the hands of the enemy."

"No one could've seen that raid coming," Plutarch replies. "It's done. You can't go back and change it. Now you have to decide what you're going to do. You have a gift, Haymitch. You're the best strategist we have. You can help thousands of others who are fighting for the same cause as Effie was."

Haymitch remains silent. His head is bowed toward the floor.

"I want to show you something."

"Leave me alone, Plutarch."

"First, a video, and then I'll leave if it's still what you want."

Plutarch moves to the opposite wall and pushes a button. A television screen appears. He pushes another button and a video begins to play.

. . .

"So you hold on to your wish. And that last night, yes, my wish was to save Katniss."

Haymitch snaps his head up at the sound of Peeta's voice. He stares into the screen. It's really him. Peeta, sitting next to Caesar Flickerman in front of a backdrop of a ridiculously large Capitol seal.

"When did you get this?" he asks Plutarch.

"They broadcast it this morning."

Haymitch frowns as Peeta continues to speak. He looks perfect. He's dressed in an expensive, tailor-made suit. His face glows with each change in expression. With a flash of his hand, it's apparent that every fingernail has been prepped, primed, and manicured. He's well fed, overfed, even. Something is very, very wrong.

At Caesar's mention of Katniss, Peeta propels himself out of his chair and leans into the interviewer.

"She didn't know, Caesar! Neither of us knew anything expect that we were trying to keep each other alive!"

Caesar swallows to retain his composure. He quickly changes the subject. Haymitch tries to take in every pixel of the screen. Any detail can help them determine where the interview was held.

"I don't know what Haymitch knew," says Peeta. Haymitch refocuses his attention on the younger man.

"Could he have been part of the conspiracy?" Caesar presses.

"He never mentioned it."

"What does your heart tell you?"

"That I shouldn't have trusted him, that's all."

. . .

Haymitch can't say he's surprised at the words, but they still pack a punch to his gut. So Peeta hates him, too. Another name on the list. The conclusion of the interview doesn't surprise him. Peeta calls for a ceasefire because even as a prisoner in the hands of the Capitol, he's trying to protect Katniss.

"Has she seen this?" he asks Plutarch.

"Yes, in Command this morning."

"Then she's going to be your Mockingjay."

"She hasn't agreed yet."

"She will," says Haymitch. "She'll do anything to save him."

_And what are you doing to save her?_ A small voice asks inside him.

"Snow just made his first move," Plutarch says, sensing his opportunity. "You can lie here and blame yourself for the rest of the war, or you can help us win it. The sooner we do, the sooner you see her again."

The image of Effie from his dream reappears. _Come back to me_, she whispers. The familiar words send an involuntary shudder through his spine. _Promise me you'll come back to me._

Haymitch turns to Plutarch. "We do this my way, or we don't do it at all. And I expect us to look out for each other. I trust Coin about as much as I trust Snow right now. Understood?"

Plutarch nods. "I hope this means you have something in mind?"

The scowl never leaves Haymitch's face, but a tiny lift of the corners of his mouth betrays him. "Snow wants to play some chess? I guess it's our move."


	2. Old Friends

**mgowriter's notes**: Reference in _Mockingjay_: Chapter 5: pages 70-72 and Chapter 6: page 73

* * *

**Chapter 2: Old Friends**

Haymitch paces the long, rectangular control booth that towers above the soundstage. Almost every inch of the space is filled with panels of electronic equipment, making each step a near collision with the closest object. He stops to peer through the one-way glass that hides the occupants of the room—Plutarch, himself, and a team of sound and video engineers. Fulvia, Plutarch's assistant, waits patiently on stage.

"What's taking them so long?" he asks irritably.

"They're putting the uniform on," Plutarch answers. "Have you seen it yet?"

Haymitch shakes his head.

"It's magnificent. Cinna's greatest gift to the rebellion."

Haymitch doesn't answer. His features are etched in a frown.

"Wait," Plutarch says suddenly. His hand presses against the small transmitter in his right ear. "They're ready."

After a few seconds of anticipation, Katniss walks onto the soundstage. When she stands fully under the lights, her Mockingjay uniform reveals itself as more than it has been described; not only magnificent, but noble and commanding. Every detail of the body-hugging suit is made with both design and function in mind. The black bow at her side is elegant, menacing, and the perfect accompaniment to complete the picture. She is the image of the warrior that the rebellion needs.

Plutarch's lips beam from corner to corner. "Amazing, isn't it? People will run to fight for us after seeing her."

Haymitch doesn't answer. He stares at the close-up image of Katniss on one of the screens in the booth. It's the first time that he's seen her since she was pulled out of the arena. She does look like the warrior they've made her up to be. Standing in the middle of a wave of smoke with her dark uniform and makeup, it's easy to imagine her having just stepped off the battlefield.

But there's something missing. He sees it in the miniscule way she slouches her shoulders, and in the way she complies too automatically to stand a certain way or sit for a makeup adjustment. Worst of all, he sees it in her eyes. She's not thinking of revenge or rebellion. Her eyes have never lost the look of guilt he remembers so vividly from the hovercraft, when she first realized Peeta was left behind.

. . .

When Plutarch is finally happy with the adjustments to the Mockingjay's look, he returns to where Haymitch stands. Fulvia calls for quiet on the set and the lights center on Katniss. From the recording booth, Plutarch yells, "Action!"

Katniss thrusts the bow above her head. She pauses for a split second of indecision, but pulls it back together and recites her line.

"People of Panem, we fight, we dare…we end our hunger for justice."

. . .

Silence fills the stage. The engineers look at each other, then at Plutarch and Haymitch. Fulvia glances nervously up at the booth. It isn't that Katniss doesn't deliver the line; she memorized it perfectly. It's the fact that she appears to be under the control of the Capitol as she's saying the words. There is no emotion, no credibility or certainty. It's as if she's recording an answering service.

No one moves. The cameras keep rolling. After a long pause, Haymitch pushes the intercom button. He knows what his words will do to her, but he also knows he has to fix this, or the rebellion is dead. Finally, he forces his voice into a sharp, cruel laugh.

"And that, my friends," he says with laughter still in his voice, "is how a revolution dies."

Katniss jerks her head toward the recording booth.

"Haymitch?" she asks, disconcerted.

Haymitch chuckles again over the intercom. "Come on, sweetheart, did you really think that would do it?"

Katniss' eyes narrow. "Haymitch," she spits out, "I thought you finally drowned inside a bottle, you sonofa—"

"Now, now," Haymitch interrupts, "don't blame your own incompetency on others. It was one simple phrase, Katniss."

Katniss' jaw sets in a hard line. Her hand grasps tightly around the bow. It's obvious she's itching to aim it at the booth. She shoots one last poisonous look at the glass before walking soundly off stage.

Plutarch fumbles for the intercom button. "Katniss, wait!"

She doesn't acknowledge him. Bewildered, Plutarch looks to Haymitch.

"Kill the cameras," Haymitch says.

"But we were supposed to—"

"Kill it," Haymitch says again. "She's been doing this for hours. She's done for the night."

Plutarch shakes his head in disbelief. "Why did you say all of that to her?"

"I had to see if she has any fight left in her."

Plutarch pauses at his words. "Does she?"

Haymitch nods. "Just enough, so it seems."

"What are we going to do about the promo?"

"Meet me in Command tomorrow morning. Tell Coin and her people to come. I have a plan to get you the footage you need."


	3. Inside a Capitol Cage

**mgowriter's notes**: Reference in _Mockingjay_: Chapter 8, page 113

* * *

**Chapter 3: Inside a Capitol Cage**

White light.

Blinding and maddening in its intensity, seemingly brighter than the sun.

Effie huddles in the corner of a small, enclosed room with a strip of the dirty prisoner's uniform wrapped around her tightly shut eyes. No matter how hard she tries, she can't block out the light.

She remembers learning once that the orange she sees are the blood vessels of her eyelids illuminated by the light. She exists in a world of only orange. How many days? She doesn't remember. Sometimes she pictures the light burning slowly through her flesh, one layer at a time, until it reaches bone. Her hair is a black, charred crisp and she is a skeleton with no eyelids, forced to look up into the light.

Effie shakes her head. She knows she can't think like that. Sometimes, on better days, she sees Haymitch in her hallucinations. He's dressed in an orange suit and has an orange smile, but always far away, always out of reach.

The door of the room opens, right on time. Effie cocks her head the side, listening to the familiar sounds of the guard's boots against the concrete floor. He lowers a tray onto the floor, and retreats the same way he entered. The door whirls as the computerized locks re-engage.

Effie places a hand against the nearest wall. Five steps by six; she has memorized every inch of her prison cell. She reaches the tray and finds the spoon in its usual place. She has learned how to do everything without sight.

She smells the food on the plate, but recoils quickly at the unexpected scent. Something is wrong.

The slightest click registers from the ceiling and she can feel the room darken. Orange to red, to dusty brown. Slowly, Effie takes off the makeshift blindfold. White dots fragment the majority of her vision, but she can make out the relative darkness of the room around the edges.

She looks down at the food on the tray, and the sinking feeling returns. A perfectly cooked steak, surrounded by bright vegetables, warm biscuits, and a steaming bowl of pumpkin soup stares up at her. A serving of wine sits next to the dishes in a plastic cup. There is enough substance for three of the usual meals she receives every day—bowls of sludge that barely pass off as food.

Effie turns to look up at the ceiling, where she knows a camera watches her every move, but is only greeted by rows of blank, white tiles. She turns back to the food. So this is what a last meal looks like, she thinks to herself. She picks up the spoon and brings the soup to her lips. The flavor is an explosion inside her mouth; salt, spice and cream mixed to the sweetness of the pumpkin. She lets the rich and comforting liquid coat the inside of her mouth. She is almost certain the food has been poisoned.

Finally, she swallows. She scoops up another spoonful, and consumes it without a second thought. One spoonful after another, she does this until all of the food is gone. Only the cup of wine sits untouched.

_I'm sorry, Haymitch_, Effie says to the picture of him in her mind, and drinks deeply from the cup.

. . .

She feels a nudge at her shoulder, then, a few seconds later, another nudge and the footsteps of a guard leaving the room. Effie automatically places her hands over her eyes. As she opens them, she's surprised by the absence of the blinding light. She blinks, and crawls up into a sitting position. She's in her prison cell. But not dead. She must've fallen asleep.

"I'm glad you're awake, Miss Trinket," a voice says to her left.

Effie quickly turns her head. A man in his early thirties, dressed impeccably in a black velvet suit, studies her from across the room.

"Who are you?" Effie asks.

The man crosses the room to extend his hand. "My name is Ionais Javlen," he speaks with the Capitol accent of high society. "I'm delighted to make your acquaintance."

Effie frowns at his words. "What do you want?"

Javlen retracts his hand. "I hope the meal was to your liking? I've been doing a little research on you. It seems you're a quite fan of pumpkin soup, having ordered it twice as much as any other variety in your eight years serving as an escort for the Games."

Effie hesitates at his words. There is something dangerous about this man; she feels it in the hairs that stand straight at her neck. His handsome face does not hide the venom behind his genetically enhanced, emerald green eyes.

"What do you want from me?" she asks again.

He smiles, as if they're old friends. "Just a few moments of your time," he says, as he touches a section of the nearest wall and a control panel lights up. He presses a few buttons before a video projects onto the wall.

. . .

Effie inhales sharply at the image. It's Peeta, dressed in one of his suits from the Victory Tour that now appears too big for his shrunken frame. Caesar Flickerman sits across from him, apparently the interviewer. Peeta is saying something about Katniss, or to Katniss. He's pleading with her. When he looks into the camera, his eyes hold a level of intensity that Effie has never seen. The interview, or what she's allowed to see of it, is brief. Peeta's final words are for Katniss, but they seem like they're directed to her.

"Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on?"

Javlen turns off the projection after the Seal of Panem flickers onto the black screen.

"I thought you might want to know," he says quietly. "Peeta has seen reason and is now working with us to stop this destructive rebellion."

Effie's heart sinks. Beneath all the prep and makeup, it's apparent that Peeta's been tortured. Who else was captured? Did Haymitch make it out of the Capitol that day? Or is he in a room like hers, next door, even, being shown the same video?

"All we want," Javlen continues, "is a little sign of faith from you. A small gesture that says you're willing to cooperate with the Capitol in putting a safe and swift end to a rebellion that is causing innocent deaths on both sides, just as Peeta has."

"What do you want me to do?" Effie asks.

"I would like for you to tell me…" Javlen pauses and laughs at his own words, as if the request is embarrassingly simple, "to tell me what you know about the rebellion. You've worked closely with Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch for almost two years. Tell me who recruited you. What lies did they tell you to have you turn against your own government?" Javlen straightened his posture. "Tell me all of this, and you're free to go."

Effie replies with a laugh of her own. "You're a terrible liar, Mr. Javlen."

Javlen's smile disappears. He closes the space between them, towering over her so his face is just inches away. "One thing you should know about me," he says with an unnerving calmness, "is that I always keep my word."

Effie straightens herself so her back is to the wall. "I think I'll pass," she says, with as much bravery as she can muster.

"Then I'm afraid, Ms. Trinket, that you've forced my hand. I'm going to give you as much time as you need to reconsider." He walks to the other side of the room. As soon as the door closes behind him, another click sounds from the ceiling.

Without warning, the room falls into complete darkness. The blackness that surrounds her erases everything.

The air is thick and fills her lungs with an inescapable stillness. Each breath feels as if it's taking her closer to suffocation. As she leans herself further against the wall, the only tangible thing in the blinding night, all she hears are the quick draws of her breath.


	4. Dead By Morning

**mgowriter's notes**:

Reference in _Mockingjay_: Chapter 11, page 162-164

* * *

**Chapter 4: Dead By Morning**

"Katniss, just this one line and you're done today. Thirteen's alive and well and so am I…"

. . .

Haymitch sees the collapse before it happens; the way her hands shake as she tries to find a place for them, the way her eyes waver as she swallows and forces herself to look at the camera. When she tries to speak, the only sound that comes out is a coarse sob.

It seems as if everyone in the group reaches for Katniss at the same time, because they know how fragile their Mockinjay has become. One fall, and she'll shatter into a million pieces. Cressida gets to her first, followed by Finnick and Gale, but she shakes her head and twists out of their comforting words, eventually finding herself clinging on to Haymitch as if he was her last tether to reality.

"It's okay," Haymitch says as he places a protective arm around her. "It's going to be okay." But it's no use. And it's not going to be okay. He can hear the hollowness in his own voice. It will never be okay.

Katniss' body shakes violently under her sobs, making her words barely coherent. "It's my fault!" she says, gasping for air. The panic overtakes her and he can only hold her closer. Her breaths are uncontrollable, too fast, and quickly slipping into hyperventilation.

Haymitch sees Boggs from the corner of his eye, just outside of Katniss' view. He holds up a syringe filled half-way with a clear solution. The intention is clear. In her state, Katniss is an obvious danger to herself. Haymitch frowns at the needle, but after a second's hesitation, he nods his consent, and it slides into Katniss' arm. She becomes limp almost immediately.

Haymitch finally lets himself breathe. He looks down at Katniss, whose features are still twisted into a restless frown, and sighs deeply. The Mockingjay is broken.

. . .

They descend the endless stairs into the depths of District 13's bunker. The empty echoes of his shoes against the metal steps repeat themselves over and over again, floor after floor, until the beat feels as if it also vibrates inside him. His arms burn from the weight of Katniss' body, but he clings on tightly, holding her to his chest. Gale follows behind, sagging under the weight of Finnick, who erupted in hysterics shortly after Katniss' collapse.

They reach the makeshift hospital at the bottom of the vast bunker and he places her gently onto one of the beds. She looks even more fragile lying on the white sheet, in an artificial state of sleep. When her mother appears to take charge of the two new patients, Haymitch finds himself pulled aside by Plutarch.

"Coin just heard about the situation. She's calling an emergency meeting."

Haymitch shakes his head. He fights to control his anger. "She knew it was a risk sending Katniss out so soon after the bombing, but she did it anyway. You can tell Coin I'm done following her orders, and I'm sure as hell not attending any more of her meetings."

"They're saying it's to plan a rescue mission to the Capitol."

Haymitch looks at Plutarch. An image of Effie flashes in his mind. She's sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee in her hands, looking up at him with unmistakable desire in her blue eyes. The night of their first kiss. Of all of his sleepless nights worrying about her, it's the image that comes to him the most. He can't bear to think about what they're doing to her at the Capitol while he's safe, here, in the depths of 13's bunker. A rescue mission could mean…

"Come on," Haymitch motions toward Plutarch as his mind runs into overdrive at the idea of having Effie back. The two men make their way quickly to the command room.

. . .

"Good of you to join us," Coin says in a way that negates the politeness of her words. Haymitch and Plutarch are the last ones in Special Defense and it's apparent everyone has been waiting.

"What's your plan?" Haymitch asks, forgoing the pleasantries.

"We pose as Peacekeepers, get into level five of the prison, and extract Peeta and the others," answers Boggs. "A simple in an out. The intel is good, and who knows when they're going to move them next. We go in now, while we still have the advantage."

"How are you going to get in?"

"Our operative inside the prison."

"The second in command?"

"He's the only one that has access," Boggs replies.

Haymitch considers his words. "You burn that bridge and it's down forever. We have one chance of getting into the prison."

"I think it's worth it. If we can get Peeta out, then it's a success."

Haymitch feels his stomach sink. "What about the others?"

Boggs shakes his head. "We'll try to get as many of them as we can, but Peeta's the priority. Without him, Katniss…" He doesn't have to finish the sentence. Everyone knows. Without Peeta, Katniss is useless, and the Mockingjay is dead.

"I'm going with you," Haymitch says.

"That won't be necessary." Coin's voice is matter of fact. "We need you here to help monitor the mission."

"Bullshit," Haymitch says angrily, turning toward her. "You don't need me here. I'm going with the rescue team."

Coin raises her eyebrows at his outburst. "For what? The escort? Your Capitol girlfriend who may very well be a spy for _them_. You're willing to risk the life of every person in this room and this District for her?"

All eyes in the room turn on Haymitch. He grits his teeth, unwilling to back down. There's a hand on his shoulder. Boggs.

"We'll look for her, Haymitch," he says with sympathy. "You have my word. We're going to do our best to get everyone back."

Haymitch rips his arm away from the man. _Everyone that Coin has a use for_, the words hang on his tongue. He gathers himself, stares into the cold, steel eyes of Coin. For a moment, before she turns away, they are identical to those of President Snow.


	5. Prime Time

**mgowriter's notes: **Reference in _Mockingjay_: Chapter 12, page 168-169

* * *

**Chapter 5: Prime Time**

Haymitch shuffles his feet amidst the ruins of District Thirteen's buildings. He stares unhappily at the scene unfolding before him.

The television crew is busy setting up a row of lights to illuminate the remains of a large, marble pillar that was once a part of the Justice Building. Cressida is engaged in conversation with the camera man, making sure every detail in the backdrop is just right. Plutarch walks amongst the setup, changing a small detail here, adjusting the microphone there. In the middle of it all, Katniss is still. She sits in the same spot that witnessed her nervous collapse just two days ago. Her hands are positioned perfectly in her lap. She can fool the others, but Haymitch has known her for too long.

"She's not ready for this," he says to Plutarch as the other man nears. "She needs more time."

"Nonsense," Plutarch replies. "She's ready as she'll ever be."

"You're playing with fire. This could break her."

Plutarch's demeanor changes into something less than cheerful. "We need this, Haymitch. You know we do. The other districts need hope. Right now they think we're all dead, bombed to hell by the Capitol. There is no stronger response than to have the Mockingjay on camera, saying we're back and stronger than ever. You can bomb our houses but you can't break out spirits. Not only that; this is the best chance Boggs and his team have of pulling Peeta out. If she doesn't deliver, and we don't create enough of a distraction, then we might as well call it quits."

Haymitch's jaw sets in a hard line. "And you're willing to sacrifice the sanity and the life of a girl to do it?"

"You bet I am," Plutarch replies, "and you would be, too, if your judgment wasn't so clouded when it comes to her. We brought you in to be objective. Chaff vouched for you. What the hell happened in the last two years?"

"I'm not going to let you do it," Haymitch says, ignoring his question.

Plutarch's gaze sweeps behind him, towards the ruins of the Justice Building. "You're too late."

Haymitch turns to see Katniss sitting next to Cressida, the camera pointed at her face.

"How did you meet Peeta?" The first question is fed to her.

Katniss is silent. She doesn't move and her eyes are unreadable. Everyone holds their breath, knowing that this is an important moment. Either the Mockingjay returns, or the rebellion fails.

When Katniss finally speaks, there is a collective sigh of relief. She answers the question truthfully, with real emotion that cannot be faked. The story of love between her and Peeta fits perfectly into a powerful message of defiance toward the Capitol.

As she finishes her story and the camera takes a break to allow Beetee to flash a pre-recorded segment, Plutarch quickly gathers Haymitch and Finnick together.

"Okay," he says, looking at both men carefully. "That was great. Katniss really pulled through, but I want to give them another punch, stir things up even more for Snow."

"What do you have in mind?" Finnick asks.

"I was thinking," Plutarch starts, eyeing the rope that Finnick grips securely with both hands, "that we could show the other side of Snow, something people of the Capitol and the Districts have never seen, something so shocking that it would force them to reconsider his image as a great ruler and benefactor." He paused. "I'm just going to say it, because I think it needs to be said. I think…people deserve to know how Snow's use of past Victors in his sex trade—"

"No," Haymitch cuts him off. "Absolutely not." He looks at Finnick, who has turned a paler shade of white. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Look," Plutarch replies. "After Katniss' story, we have the audience on our side. This is the perfect opportunity to strike."

"You don't have to do this," Haymitch says to Finnick, who has started tying a new knot in his rope. His hands shake with every movement.

"There's a line, Plutarch, and you've stepped too far onto the other side," Haymitch continues.

"I know it's a lot to ask," Plutarch says, directing his words to Finnick, "and it's very personal. But don't you think people deserve to know what he did to you, and others? Don't you think he deserves to be on trial so every citizen of Panem can decide for themselves whether he's guilty or innocent? _This_ is your opportunity, Finnick. This is your chance to be the voice for countless others who don't have the same privilege. It's your chance to distract the Capitol so our rescue team can be successful. All I'm asking is for you to consider it."

Finnick began slowly nodding his head. "Okay," he said. "Okay, I'll do it."

Haymitch placed a hand on his shoulder. "Finnick," he began, but didn't know what to say. Every word Plutarch had said was true.

As if in slow motion, Finnick walks over to the pillar and sits down in front of the camera. His entire body seems to be shaking.

"You don't have to do this," Haymitch says again.

Finnick looks up at him with the same ocean-blue eyes that have taken the hearts of so many women of Panem. Now, they contained only pain and fear.

"Yes, I do," he replies sadly, "if it will help her." He clenches his hands around the rope before signaling to the camera that he's ready.

Haymitch turns away at his words. They hit too close to home, and he realizes they're the answer to Plutarch's question. Effie Trinket was what happened to him in the last two years. He would do anything to save her, just as Finnick will reveal his most intimate, embarrassing secret to save the woman he loves.


	6. Dancing With Fire

**mgowriter's note: **Reference in _Mockingjay_: Chapter 16, pages 226-227

* * *

**Chapter 6: Dancing With Fire**

Haymitch stares down at the colorful plate of food in front of him. It looks delicious; more visually and aromatically appealing than any other meal he's had in District 13, but he has no appetite.

A round of cheers erupt in the large gathering chamber of District 13's underground city, and he looks up to see the bride and groom share a kiss on the dance floor. Annie and Finnick are inseparable in their happiness, as the cheerful mood spreads into the hearts of the nearly three hundred guests present.

The fiddler, sitting center stage and having the time of his life, starts a fast-paced song that quickly propels all of the people of District 12 to its feet. Haymitch watches the happy faces dance around him with stoic detachment. After a few minutes, he rises from the table. He has no place in their celebration.

A hand grabs him as he starts to walk away. Katniss. Her face is flushed and she has a smile that he hasn't seen since the Victory Tour.

"You're leaving already?" she asks, slightly out of breath. "Come dance with us."

Haymitch shakes his head. "I'm going to bed."

"Oh come on," she insists, leading him toward the crowd as she talks. "Forget about everything for a minute. Try it; it feels good."

Haymitch slips out of her hold. "I'm not in the mood, Katniss."  
She grabs him again, firmer this time. "If not for yourself, then for Snow." The smile retreats from her features. She nods toward the cameras that are filming the festivities. "Show him how happy and united we are. You're the best at putting on a show; better than all of us combined."

Haymitch sighs. Reluctantly, he follows her onto the dance floor. They each take a bow, but just as they join in, the music dwindles, stops, and picks up a more delicate melody. People clap as Finnick and Annie begin a slow dance in the center of the floor. A soft spotlight shines on them from above; one of Plutarch's many details.

Katniss extends her hand. "May I have this dance?"

"It's the gentlemen's job to ask that," Haymitch answers.

"So you're going to turn me down?"

Haymitch shakes his head. He takes her hand. They fall into position and sway to the easy rhythm. Just like Finnick and Annie, their movements are precise and fluid; a mark of the Capitol's finest dance training.

"I didn't know you were this good," Haymitch says with a hint of a smile. He turns her in a circle. At the same moment, the spotlight reaches their corner and shines on her dress. Cinna's handiwork is beautifully revealed in the design of the dress. A small silhouette of a mockingjay at her chest sparkles briefly as the light hits it at the right angle, and disappears just as quickly.

The flash catches Haymitch off guard. He stops midstep, causing Katniss to almost trip. A picture of Effie, standing underneath the same spotlight, her dress glowing from within, rushes into his mind. He releases his hold on Katniss to hide his hand behind his back. He can feel himself shaking.

"Haymitch?"

He backs away a step, creating space between them. Effie's face reappears in his mind. Her beautiful, cherry-red lips call out his name.

He takes another step back.

"Are you okay?" Katniss asks.

He turns and starts for the exit.

"Wait," she says, touching his arm.

"I'm leaving," he says hastily as he brushes her off. Haymitch makes it out into the hallway, to the first turn, and ducks into an empty corridor.

Out of sight, he finally allows himself to choke out the breath that he's been holding. He inhales, and chokes again. _Effie_. He tries a third time, with the same result. The hot flood of tears surprises him in its intensity. He feels his entire body shake. In the dimly lit hallway, he slides down the cold, concrete wall. The tears continue to fall, but he does nothing to stop them.


	7. From the Shadows

**mgowriter's note: **Reference in _Mockingjay_: Chapter 11, page 159.

* * *

**Chapter 7: From the Shadows**

Darkness. All encompassing, and without end.

She doesn't know how long it has been since she has seen light; she doesn't think she remembers what it looks like; _feels_ like. Years, she sometimes convinces herself, but it can't be true. Her hand reaches for the ends of her hair to calm herself. The hair is her only measure of time. It sits just past the prominent bones of her shoulder blades, longer than it's ever been, but not long enough to be years.

_What if they cut it while you sleep?_ The voice inside her asks.

"Shush," she whispers, scanning the dense blackness before her. "I can't listen to you."

Effie's stomach growls. She crawls forward on the cold, tiled floor and stops just in front of the sealed door that melts into the wall. Eight steps from the edge of the bed to the door; five more from there to the toilet; seven if she takes a diagonal line back to the bed, but twelve if she wants to touch the opposite corner first, where the two furthest walls converge and she knows the darkness doesn't stretch into infinity.

She waits, at the edge of the door that she can't feel from inside her cell. Her stomach growls again. They are late.

Just as she starts to turn away, the familiar hum of the electronic door sounds, and a plate of food slides in.

Effie grabs the cup that's always in the same position and pulls it toward her lips. She drinks in the liquid deeply, but her taste buds immediately rebel. She spits out the amount that she hasn't swallowed. After a second, she brings the cup back to her lips, and gives it another try. The same taste reaches her tongue. Wine. Delicious, full-bodied, _expensive_ wine.

Effie sets the cup down. She carefully feels around until her hand bumps into the spoon and the edge of the plastic plate. She scoops up a spoonful of food and lifts it up to her mouth. The savory aroma catches her off guard. Creamy, buttery, slightly salty but perfectly seasoned potatoes hit her senses. Effie holds the morsel in her mouth, letting every particle of flavor touch and dissolve on her tongue, before finally swallowing it. She reaches down for more. By touch, she discovers a full meal in front of her. She doesn't stop to think what it means; she has known hunger for too long and she eats until her stomach is beyond protest.

Just as she sets down the last spoonful, a quiet hum sounds from above, and the faintest light glows from the ceiling. Effie shields her eyes. She's momentarily blinded but desperate to see. Slowly, agonizingly carefully, she lets her eyes adjust. The room is surrounded by the faintest shadows of its sparse furnishings, but to her it seems like the bright noon sun. After a few minutes, another hum sounds and the light increases fractionally in intensity. An hour passes, two, and the lights increase slowly until it's bright enough for a visitor to see across the room.

The electronic door hums for the second time that day, and a second later, Ionais Javlen steps through.

. . .

"Miss Trinket," he says warmly. "How have you been?"

Effie stares at him. She tries to hide the fear in her eyes.

"Don't worry," he says, holding his hands up. "I'm not here to ask you any questions, yet. You see, I've done a little digging, and what I've found has been most surprising."

Javlen walks to the wall and places his fingerprint onto the surface. A control panel emerges, followed by a colorful screen.

"Please, have a look," he motions toward the display.

Effie turns her gaze to the wall. It follows a video camera that's mounted to the ceiling of an enormous room, and moves slowly across the space. There is a party. People dressed in their finest clothing are drinking and laughing. She recognizes the scene. They're watching footage from the Victory Tour party in Snow's mansion. It takes her a second to calculate the position of the camera, but she finally realizes where they were hidden—underneath the floating clouds that the musicians stood on.

The camera zooms into a small group on the dance floor, and then further onto a couple swaying to the music. Effie's breath catches in her throat. She and Haymitch are the couple.

She watches, mesmerized by the video. She so badly wants to touch the screen, to tell him to look upward into the camera. In the darkness, her greatest fear was losing the memory of what he looks like.

In the video, Haymitch turns her in tune to the music and she spins back into him effortlessly. He whispers something into her ear, and the smile that lights up her face is hard to miss. Then, suddenly, her dress erupts into lighted brilliance as the spotlight shines on it and magically, snow begins to fall from the artificial clouds. With the spotlight still on her, Haymitch bends to her hand, and gives it a gentle kiss before retreating into the crowd. The screen goes black.

Effie pushes past the lump in her throat. She struggles to hold back the tears that fill her eyes.

"A lovely dance," Javlen comments. "Lovely dress. Lovely couple." He lowers himself and leans in. "You see, Miss Trinket, after going through thousands of hours of footage, this was my first bite. Please, let us continue."

A new video starts, this time a grainy, soundless picture of an ornate bathroom, with pink tiles and a golden floor. Effie recognizes the hexagonal shape of the glass shower immediately. It's the bathroom connected to her suite during the Games. Two people come into view, and she realizes it is all over. Steam begins to fill the room, until the two people are only shadows. They step out of their clothes and into the shower.

Effie looks away. That was the last time she kissed him, in the shower. And now they know. They know about her and Haymitch, and she will die for treason.

"I will not play games with you," Javlen says, his voice turning cold. "The relationship between you and Haymitch Abernathy is obvious, and an abomination to every citizen of the Capitol. So I will simply ask you again. What do you know about the rebel plan?"

Effie remains silent. Javlen grabs onto her face and twists it roughly toward the screen.

"One more video," he says. "Then perhaps you will reconsider."

The third video begins outside, somewhere that's completely foreign to her. The landscape is a mass of dirt and rubble in between gigantic, circular depressions in the ground. Every building is in a state of collapse. There is nothing resembling life; only destruction.

"District Thirteen," Javlen's voice sounds beside her. "Where Haymitch was staying, and where he died."

"No!" Effie thrusts herself at him but he is too quick, and catches her by her wrists. "You're a liar!"

"The video speaks for itself," Javlen replies calmly. His breath is artificially sweet. It makes her sick to her stomach. "Now, as I said during our first meeting. Tell me everything you know about the rebels and you are free to go."

Effie spits in his face. He releases her long enough to pull out a pair of gloves from his pocket.

"President Snow predicted your response, and specially requested this for you," Javlen says as he puts the gloves on. A spark of electricity crackles between them. "This room," he motions around the cell, "is fully equipped. The walls, the floor…everything you touch and everything that touches you will deliver a shock. Let me show you."

Javlen wraps the fingers of one hand around Effie's arm and she lurches back at the jolt of electricity. He pulls his hand back.

"Think about, Miss Trinket. He is dead. Are they really worth it?"

Javlen's features almost contort into a look of sympathy as he exits the room.


	8. Angels Watch Them through the Night

**mgowriter's note: **Reference in _Mockingjay_: Chapter 20, pages 277-279, 287-288.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Angels Watch Them through the Night**

He's running at full speed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His heart pounds forcefully in his chest; pulse elevates with each desperate step. It is just like the dream. Effie and her yellow dress. Running, running…out of time.

Haymitch needs no introduction when he bursts into the command room. The men clustered around the television screen disperse to give him space. He focuses his eyes onto the image.

It's a Capitol feed. He recognizes Boggs, Katniss, and Gale amongst the group sent to shoot footage of the rebels' attack. Boggs is at one end of an empty street, Katniss closest to him. The others seem relaxed, their weapons at ease.

Boggs is looking at the Holo in his hand when he steps backward, an innocent gesture that shouldn't have resulted in the explosion that tears both of his legs from his body. A second later, another explosion hits, and everything descends into chaos.

Haymitch grabs onto the screen, straining to see through the flying debris and heavy smoke. Boggs is hurt, badly. There's blood everywhere, around him, on him, gushing out of him. Katniss reaches him first. She places her hands on the stumps to stop the bleeding. The others try to help but Haymitch knows it's no use. There's too much damage.

A black liquid spills into the street, forcing the group to move. Peeta comes into view. Peeta…God, what is he doing there? The image blurs, then refocuses. He struggles against Mitchell, who's pushed out of the way. A spiked net appears out of nowhere.

The black material continues to crawl. Gale shoots uselessly at the net, trying to free Mitchell. It's no use. He's dead. The camera is perfectly positioned to catch the look of frozen surprise etched onto his features. Haymitch sees the panic in Gale's face. The fluid that's neither solid nor gas finally reaches the camera, and it shorts out.

. . .

Silence fills the room. Haymitch backs away from the television, unblinking. The feed switches to a Capitol reporter in front of a new camera, at the scene hours later. He reads out the names that are presumed dead. Katniss Everdeen. Peeta Mellark. Finnick Odair. Gale Hawthorne. Mitchell Fowler. Kalenon Boggs. Cressida Raya. Dead. All of them, dead.

Haymitch swallows to regain his voice. "When was this?" he asks.

"Four hours ago," someone says.

"Radio?" He continues to stare at the television image, half wondering if he's still dreaming.

"We haven't been able contact them," Plutarch replies. "We think there was an electromagnetic pulse that wiped out the whole area."

"Is it confirmed?" he motions toward the screen, meaning the names of the dead.

Plutarch shook his head. "There's no way to know."

"Survivors? Where would they be?" Haymitch asks. No one replies.

"A guess?" he says louder, looking around the room.

"We simply don't know," says Plutarch.

"What's the backup plan?"

Again, silence met him. This time, he turns on Plutarch. "You're telling me they don't have a backup plan in case they get attacked in the middle of the Capitol?" His anger is palpable as it builds.

"Cressida…she knows of a safe house in the city. Maybe they can get there," Plutarch offered.

"Where?"

"A shop owned by a woman called Tigris. She's a sympathizer."

"So contact her," Haymitch says.

"We can't," Plutarch says regrettably. "That was one of her conditions. Besides, it would put them more at risk, if they are there."

Haymitch feels his fists clench at his side. It was a simple mission, so he didn't think twice about handing it off. He had the rebellion to plan, working day and night to orchestrate the attack on the Capitol, sleeping as little as he can. It was supposed to be a propos production. _An easy in and out_, by his own words.

He looks around the room, and lands on the cold grey eyes of President Coin. She doesn't need to speak. He knows instantly that she is the one who sent Peeta to join the team.

"I'm going to the Capitol on the next hovercraft," he says coldly, directing his words toward her.

"I'm afraid that's impossible," she responds. "We need you here to run the operation."

"I can run it wherever I see fit," he spits out his words.

He turns without waiting for a response, leaving the room. He doesn't allow himself to think of the names in the broadcast, but they appear anyway. Katniss. Peeta. If they're gone…he stops, cuts off the thought. If they're gone, then it was he who killed them.


End file.
